Chapter 14
Freya POV:
Despite telling myself I never wanted to see Harvey again, he kept showing up.
He was shameless, appearing at my bedside the second he clocked out every single day.
We existed in a heavy, pressurized silence.
He didn't speak.
I didn't offer a word.
When surgery day finally arrived, the quiet was replaced by the clinical hum of the hospital.
As I waited for the nurses to wheel me into the anesthesia suite, a familiar panic began to claw at my chest.
It was going to be another bloody, invasive ordeal.
The post-op pain...
I didn't know if I had the strength to survive it one more time.
That fear had been a low-frequency hum in the back of my mind for months.
Now, it leaped out like a midnight specter, flaunting itself right in front of my face.
Harvey burst through the doors, his breath coming in ragged hitches.
He grabbed my hand, managed to choke out my name—"Freya"—and then went silent, his voice failing him.
I kept my face turned away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a glance.
His breathing was a mess.
It took him a long moment before he could steady himself enough to speak.
"I know your pain is my fault," he said, his voice low and thick. "But this time, I’m not letting you face it alone."
He pulled my palm against his cheek, leaning into it.
"Don't be scared. I’ll be right here waiting when you come out."
I closed my eyes, desperate to hide the tears that were threatening to spill.
All the agony, all the deep-seated resentment—in that moment, it all felt dangerously close to crumbling.
I hated myself for being so easily moved, but those years of suffering in isolation had been so damn bitter.
I was defenseless against even the smallest shred of his warmth.
The nurses arrived, checking my name and bed number before prep began.
I pulled my hand back, reassembling my mask of cold indifference.
I didn't know if I still loved him.
That was a question I hadn't dared to touch, not even after we’d reunited.
I decided not to think at all.
Just like two years ago, I’d let fate make the call for me.
The anesthesia room was bone-chillingly cold.
The only sounds were the sterile clinking of metal instruments and the doctor’s rhythmic questioning.
Fear seized me again, tearing at my resolve.
I was terrified of the pain.
I was terrified I’d never wake up.
I was shaking so hard I had to ball my hands into fists.
His voice played on a loop in my head:
I’ll be right here waiting when you come out.
Then came the sharp, searing sting in my spine.
And the world went black.
----
I felt like I’d been asleep for a century.
When I finally drifted toward the surface, the lights were blinding.
Someone was peeling back my eyelids, talking to me in a muffled voice.
Then I was moving, the gurney rolling over the floor.
Through the haze, I thought I heard Harvey.
He was gently squeezing my hand, telling me I was brave.
Then, I dipped back into sleep.
In the dreams, he was there, holding my hand with a devastating tenderness.
He whispered "I'm sorry" into my ear—over and over, a mantra of regret.
I lost count of how many times he said it.
I only remember the sound of him choking back a sob.
When I opened my eyes for real, his face was the first thing I saw.
His light blue eyes were shining with a mix of relief and unshed tears.
"Freya? You're awake?"
His voice was a gravelly rasp.
I stared at him, feeling a bit numb.
After all, during the last few surgeries, I’d been completely alone from start to finish.
I’d always woken up to an icy, empty room.
No comfort, no one to ask how I was.
I lingered in the silence for a moment, feeling a strange, unexpected spark of warmth in my chest.
"Is it over?" I managed to ask.
"It's over." He gently smoothed the stray hairs away from my face.
"My leg... will it still hurt?"
"No," he choked out, a tear finally escaping. "Never again. I promise."
"The hardware? I said I wanted to keep it."
"I have it. I’m holding onto it for you."
A few drops of warm liquid hit the back of my hand.
I could hear his breathing, fractured and uneven.
"Freya," he said, struggling to maintain his composure. "Seeing that piece of steel... I finally realized how catastrophically I messed everything up."
I stayed silent, listening to the tremor in his voice.
"I wanted to give you the world. I thought I’d planned everything perfectly. I even had the engagement ring ready...
“I thought you’d be happy that night.
“I thought you’d say yes."
----
The images from that night collided in my mind.
A chaotic blur of fragments.
The soft glow of the restaurant lights.
The sparkle of the champagne.
The way I had painstakingly applied my makeup, feeling beautiful, feeling hopeful. He had taken my hand in his.
I was so sure—so utterly convinced—that he was about to propose.
But instead:
"The overseas branch."
"Five years."
"The time will fly by."
...
I had sat there, watching him map out my entire life without a single question.
And then... the brutal impact.
The blinding, white-hot agony.
"I was waiting for a proposal," I rasped, my voice trembling with two years of suppressed rage.
"And you used that beautiful, elaborate setting just to throw me away."
I wrenched my hand back from his grip, pulling the hospital blanket over my head to hide.
I was shaking violently; every breath felt like a serrated blade in my chest.
Harvey stood over me, his voice a gravelly ghost of its former self.
"I’m sorry. Freya, I am so goddamn sorry.
“I see it now... I didn't factor you into anything.
“I gave you nothing but a piece of steel in your leg and a lifetime of trauma."
"Enough." I cut him off, reaching out to coldly pry his fingers away.
"Saying this now doesn't dull the pain, not even a little.
“And don't think for a second that this makes me forgive you."
He froze, standing by the bed, looking uncharacteristically lost—stripped of the corporate armor that usually defined him.
I stared at him, my voice barely a whisper.
"You’re addicted to control, Harvey. You control the firm, you control the deals, and you thought you could control me.
“You didn't even say anything back then, and now you’re trying to block my resignation?
“Do you honestly think that’s how you keep someone?"
I let out a dry, hollow laugh.
"You don't love me.
“You love your own power.
“You only love yourself."
He recoiled, taking two steps back as if I’d struck him.
The shock in his eyes told me the truth had finally landed.
"I... I..."
He gasped for air, but the words wouldn't come.
I watched him.
I watched his face shift from sheer panic to a slow, devastating stillness.
He remained silent for what felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.
"It’s my fault," he said, his voice low and hollow.
"I’ve spent our entire relationship managing you instead of listening to you."
He took a deep, shuddering breath.
"If you want to resign, I’ll accept it.
“If you want to get as far away from me as possible... I’ll accept that, too."
He looked at me, his eyes swimming with a profound, aching regret.
"Freya, this time, the call is yours."
----
The room fell into a deafening silence.
I looked at him.
This was exactly what I wanted to hear.
This was my freedom.
But instead of feeling light, my chest felt like it had been crushed under a ton of bricks.
My fingers gripped the blanket so hard my nails dug into my palms.
"Good," I heard myself say. "Then stop bothering me. Just...
“Leave."
The moment the words left my lips, my heart went into a violent spasm.
It felt like I had just reached out and personally severed a vital cord.
He stood there, the flicker of hope in his eyes dying out instantly.
His broad shoulders slumped, his posture breaking for the first time.
He turned slowly and walked toward the door.
As he reached for the handle, he paused, but he didn't look back.
"I... I won't bother you again.
“But if you ever need me, for anything... you just have to say the word."
It was so faint, it sounded like a dying man’s last breath.
The door clicked shut.
The room went silent.
I should have felt relieved.
But the second his warmth and his scent vanished from the room, my breathing fractured.
My chest tightened, a suffocating weight pressing down on me.
I wanted to scream, to call him back, to undo the words.
I struggled to sit up, but the sudden movement sent a flare of agony through my right leg.
I curled back into the blankets, sobbing.
My body screamed in pain.
My heart screamed louder.
Tears flooded my eyes, unstoppable and hot.
Pushing him out of my life hadn't made me feel better.
It just made me feel alone.